


Stuck In The Middle With You

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo gives zero fucks, Explicit Language, M/M, Quite a bit of swearing, Road Rage, Stuck In Traffic AU, Thorin is basically Arthur from Vine, Thorin lives in fear of disappointing his nephews, Traffic jam, stupid jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to Kili's birthday celebration, Thorin gets stuck in a massive traffic jam and is understandably furious. He's prepared to do murder by the time a kind man comes to his aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck In The Middle With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurasama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurasama/gifts).



> This is what happens when my fiancé and I are awake and having general pillow-talk at 2am. Dumb AUs. We have tons.

He had spent the past two hours fuming. Now, when the third hour was almost up, he was well on his way to erupt. And, if he managed to get to Kili’s birthday party within the next three hours, he would be horribly murdered by his sister.

Why, yes, Thorin’s day was just fine, thank you for asking.

He vowed to maim, kill, or otherwise destroy the first person who’d ask how his day was, just after giving them that answer.

Traffic had been fine when he left home. It was supposed to be a short drive, just to the cabin about an hour away. Well, one hour had turned into three when he found himself stuck in a traffic jam, and he still didn’t know what the hell was going on or why no one was moving. Other drivers seemed just as frustrated, and only furious glares and threatening gestures had saved his car from getting rear-ended.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d not received a call from Dwalin a few minutes previous. When he’d told his cousin where he was, the burly man had simply cackled hysterically, told Thorin that he would be horrifically murdered by Dís, and then hung up.

Dwalin was currently first on the list of people Thorin wanted to maim, kill, or otherwise destroy.

Thorin’s fuming was rudely interrupted by a knock on the driver’s seat window. He blinked, and only reluctantly left his furious thoughts to open the window.

“What?” he snapped without turning his head.

“Ah, sorry, am I interrupting anything?” The voice was soft, and the person sounded genuinely concerned. Thorin frowned and turned his head, only to have the frown wiped away by a look of surprise. Standing by his car was a small man with sand-brown hair, clad in a pristine white shirt and a red jacket, carrying multiple water-bottles in his arms. The man was smiling, a little nervously so. “I only wanted to ask if you wanted some water, since it seems everyone will be stuck here a bit longer.”

“Water,” Thorin repeated dumbly. He caught himself, shook his head and tried for a small smile. “I’m sorry, I just… I’m not having a very good day. Yes, some water would be nice.”

The man gave him a practically blinding smile and handed him one of the bottles.

“There’s been an accident further down the road,” he explained. “Right at the intersection, there’s a huge trailer that’s been turned over somehow. It blocks the road completely in every direction.”

Thorin, who had been about to open the bottle, let out a low involuntary growl and instead slammed the bottle against the steering wheel.

“God fucking damn it,” he snarled. “That’s just perfect.”

The poor man jumped, his smile gone and with a worried look in its place.

“Oh, but the driver is alright,” he hurried to say. “Crawled out of the wreckage and came down to mine to call police and firemen and whatnot.”

“Came down to yours?” Thorin asked, his rather furious trail of thought once again completely derailed. “What do you mean?”

The man smiled nervously again and pointed towards a small side-road that led up towards a collection of shops.

“I have a flower-shop down there,” he said. “I thought I should come out and see if anyone was thirsty.”

“Three hours in a traffic jam will do that,” Thorin admitted. “You’ve been up to talk to the police, then?”

“Well, I talked to the driver and made sure to help him until the ambulance arrived. And the police said it would take a good long while to move the truck.” The man gave Thorin an apologetic look and shrugged. “There’s not anywhere to reroute the traffic to, though, at least not the parts of it already here. They’re trying to figure it out.”

Thorin hummed and eyed the side-road. Driving over the sidewalk would be easy enough, and there was no fence on the way to the shops.

“I’d be breaking a law or two,” he muttered. “Could be worth it to be out of traffic, though.”

“I’d be ratting you out,” the man admitted. “I can’t really afford to shield criminals.”

“You’re the worst henchman.”

“I don’t even know you!”

“You just gave me water and told me about your day.”

“Is that how one enters a pact with you?”

They were grinning at each other. Thorin had to admit that he was a little bit confused about the situation; even on the best of days, he had a tendency of wishing that he could set chatty strangers on fire with only the power of his mind. But this strange little man was surprisingly pleasant, and he knew he’d be lying if he said that he wanted him to go away.

“Thorin,” he said, sticking his hand out through the open window. “Nice to meet you.”

The man blinked at him, then quickly juggled the remaining water-bottles until he had a hand free to take Thorin’s and shake it.

“Bilbo,” he answered with a laugh. “Bilbo Baggins. It’s nice to meet you too, though perhaps the circumstances could’ve been different.”

“Could have, probably should have,” Thorin agreed with a smile. “Ultimately weren’t. How about a do-over?”

“Pardon?”

“How about we try this again when I’m not stuck in traffic feeling like a murderous rampage is a good way to solve things?”

Bilbo’s smile got wider, and Thorin could’ve sworn he blushed a little; the light made it difficult to tell.

“If you’re thinking lunch or dinner,” Bilbo said airily, “that would be nice.”

“Lunch, dinner, coffee,” Thorin hummed. “Anything, really. This conversation is pretty much the only part of my day that hasn’t been horrible.”

“You sound like you’re expecting the rest of it to be just as bad.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow and glanced into the backseat of the car; he must’ve seen the present for Kili. “Going somewhere nice?”

“Nephew’s birthday.” Thorin sighed deeply and shook his head. “I swore I’d be there. No, really, he made me swear with my hand on the Bible because I missed it last year. And I was supposed to be there hours ago, and I’m stuck in traffic…”

“I can recognise that feeling.” Bilbo frowned, giving Thorin a long thoughtful look. “My nephew reacts much the same way.” He looked at the car, then over at the sidewalk, then back to Thorin. “If you’re going to break the law, be quick about it and head down to the shop, alright? It’s already closed up, at any rate. I could see if I could help.”

“If you’ve got a car, it won’t be much use,” Thorin stated flatly. “I hear its big brother’s been laid low in the intersection.”

“I do have a car, actually,” Bilbo answered, his frown quickly giving way to a bright grin. “Parked on the other side of the block, on a side-street. Which means this jam is easy enough to avoid. You could leave your car down here, and I could give you a ride.”

“How do you know that the side-streets aren’t jammed?” Thorin asked.

“There is a wonderful thing known as feet,” Bilbo laughed. “I had a look around before going up to hand out water.”

Thorin hesitated and glanced at the rear-view mirror. He wasn’t quite so locked in place as he’d thought, he could still easily make it over the sidewalk. And not disappointing Kili (and not getting murdered) was a very tempting thing.

“If there’s a ticket on my car when I get back, I will kill you,” he stated firmly. “I am not joking.”

“Didn’t think you were,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “You go on, I’ll just hand out a few more bottles and I’ll be right there.”

 

The party was nice. Thorin had decided to simply call it _nice_ and not _great_ because of the hissed death-threats from his sister for being so late. Apparently Kili had cried twice because his uncle hadn’t been there.

“He thought you weren’t going to show,” Fili had solemnly told Thorin when cake was being served. “He seriously thought you’d break your promise.”

“Hey, I promised I’d show up,” Thorin had answered, a tad defensively. He didn’t know why he was being defensive. Kili was only eight, and Fili was nine. Why would he need to defend himself to a nine-year-old? Oh, right. Because their mother happened to be his dear baby sister, the most terrifying woman to ever be born, and Fili could tattle. “Besides, there was a traffic jam. I even left early, but some things are just out of my control.”

So, after being threatened by his sister, punching Dwalin in the face for not being any help whatsoever, and watching Kili light up with sheer glee when opening his present to find a Nerf-gun, Thorin settled for that the party had been nice. He was sat on the sofa, nursing a cup of coffee in his hands while watching his nephews gleefully check just how good the present was, when Dís decided to join him.

“So how is it that you arrived in that little wreck of a car?” she asked bluntly. “And being driven by someone? You hate when someone else drives.”

“Traffic jam,” Thorin sighed. “As I’ve told you fifteen times already.”

“That doesn’t explain the chauffeur.”

“He’s not a fucking chauffeur, you fourth-rate milk-cow, he owns a flower-shop right near the intersection where the accident happened.”

“Fourth-rate milk-cow? You’re being inventive today.”

“Leftover traffic-rage. Not sorry.”

Dís peered searchingly at him, a small smile on her face; he knew that smile. It meant that she was considering which piece of blackmail to use to make him tell her something. Before she could open her mouth, he continued:

“Look, I was pissy after being stuck there for hours, and he was handing out water-bottles. We got talking, I said I had somewhere to be, he apparently knew the feeling of disappointing one’s nephew. So yeah, he told me he had his car parked out of the way of the traffic jam and offered me a ride.”

“In the most horrible little car known to man.” Dís’s smile had turned into a grin now. That usually meant that he would never hear the end of this. “In a fucking Toyota Starlet.”

“He’s apparently very fond of it,” Thorin muttered. He looked away, knowing his cheeks were going pink. “Says it’s never broken down once.”

“You’re thinking of buying him a new car, aren’t you?” Dís asked, laughing suddenly and nudging his arm. “Just, nothing too fancy, okay? I doubt he’d want it, if he’s still attached to a frigging Toyota Starlet.” She leaned closer and put her chin on his shoulder, still grinning at him. “Did my big brother get a number, by any chance? Or were you busy being your usual road-ragey self?”

“Has my little sister learnt to not be a nosey little fuck?” Thorin answered, raising an eyebrow. “A pointless question, since everyone knows she hasn’t.”

“Oh, so you _did_ get a number!”

“Dís, do me a huge favour and shut the fuck up.”

“You’d like to do _him_ a huge favour, wouldn’t you? Or rather, _do_ him as a favour, eh?”

“At what point in any of my past lives did I murder and eat babies? It’s the only thing I could’ve done to deserve being stuck with you.”

Telling his little sister that he’d actually gotten someone’s number was a bad idea. And not one he was particularly keen on following up on. Telling her that Bilbo had already decided to give him a ride back was worse, but she would find out about that soon enough no matter what he did.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have horrible road-rage?” Bilbo asked in a conversational tone. “I mean, perhaps it’s just me, but I’m fairly certain that roaring ‘get out of my way, duck-molester’ doesn’t help matters.”

“Sounds familiar,” Thorin ground out. “Any other interesting factoids to share while I try to convince myself that murder is not the answer?”

“Here’s one,” Bilbo answered. “You said something similar about a year ago when you were stuck in a traffic jam.”

Glancing briefly at the man in the passenger seat, Thorin had to smile. He did remember, and it was really the only good memory he had from ever getting stuck in a traffic jam. Bilbo looked decidedly unimpressed by his companion’s fury, and he was not afraid to get snarky about it.

“I did, didn’t I,” Thorin hummed. “Well, add it to the list, I guess.”

“Could you please just roll up the window and stop shouting abuse at the poor man in that convertible?” Bilbo sighed. “Really, Thorin, how would calling him a duck-molester help?”

“It makes me feel better,” Thorin admitted. “Besides, you weren’t complaining earlier when someone actually _heard_ me.”

Bilbo snickered and shrugged, and Thorin couldn’t help but laugh as well. The old man who had heard the shouting had given as good as he got, and Bilbo had been howling with laughter for a solid five minutes.

“Well, all the same, you should roll up the window.” Bilbo smiled at him. “We’re getting close to the cabin, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, it’s the next right.” Thorin hummed softly. “You know, I’m still pretty surprised that you even wanted to come.”

“It’s better than your sister’s stalking, really,” Bilbo muttered. “You still say that she’s never so much as seen my face in a picture, but I swear that she was outside my shop the other day.”

“I guess she might’ve overheard me saying your name, or seen it written down,” Thorin admitted. “You don’t have a very usual name.”

“Could be. Could be short for William.”

“You’re thinking of Bill.”

“It could be a unique version of Bill.”

“Your family has a horrible lack of imagination.”

“Oh, and I suppose adding –in to the name Thor is such a brilliant idea?”

“Game, set, and match to you. I give.”

“In the spirit of honesty, though,” Bilbo sighed. “I know you’d told your nephews last time that you’d ask me to come along then, and I… Well, I was afraid, so I said no. But it’s been a year now, and you keep telling me that your family is getting increasingly twitchy about it all.”

“I didn’t want you to say yes only because of that,” Thorin stated firmly, shooting Bilbo a concerned look. “If you’d said no, I would’ve just-“

“I know, Thorin, I know.” Bilbo smiled again and put one hand on his arm. “It’s fine, really. I do want to meet them, you know. You already met mine.”

“Your mother insists on care-packages,” Thorin informed him in a deadpan tone. “I’ve never received so many packages filled with cookies before. Or knitted scarves and hats.”

“Oh, the hats and scarves are from dad. Mum doesn’t knit.”

“No comment on the cookies?”

“You love the cookies, don’t you lie to me. I could tell dad to add something else, though.”

“No need, he already sent me a couple of books. They’re pretty good, actually.”

“History-nerds…”

“You’re one of us, and remember who’s driving.”

“This is getting off-track again,” Bilbo laughed. “Alright, my point is, I really do want to meet your family, horrifying sister and all. So of course I’d come along this time.”

“Be prepared for Nerf-combat,” Thorin warned him. “Fili got one for his birthday too. They’re building up an armoury, and last time I went to see them I was greeted with a Nerf-dart to the face.”

“I’ll hide behind you, obviously. You’re a more obvious target, love.”

“I’ll trade you for cake.”

“That’s alright, I understand.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll probably join you in the death-by-Nerf club later and share it.”

“This is why I’m still dating you.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, yes, I've been in a Toyota Starlet. It was the first car my older brother ever owned, and it was SO DAMN SMALL that he and my eleven-year-old self could barely fit in it together.


End file.
